


Under the Mistletoe

by runawaygypsy



Category: Loki (MCU) - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Depression, F/M, Family Problems, Holidays, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygypsy/pseuds/runawaygypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Merry Christmas to my readers :)<br/>This is a special present from me to you!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Under the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to my readers :)  
> This is a special present from me to you!

I collapsed against the doorway, utterly drained from the evening spent with my family. I loved them, but i also hated being the subject of ridicule as I was, always the one asked why I was not with anyone, why I had no children yet, why I could barely afford the roof over my head and food, and yet expected to buy gifts for all of them. I was emotionally bereft. “Oh, God!” I groaned, exasperated as I stared into the abyss of my lonesome apartment. As much as I loathed being under the familial microscope, I felt the void of being alone as well. 

My life had taken a turn for the worst when my husband of three years had walked out on me. We had divorced amicably, which was just as well, since we had never managed to have children, and, while I had dated a couple men, had not found anyone else. I wasn't sure which was worse: the lonely feeling of never having been with someone, or the emptiness I felt having loved and lost. Either way, I had resigned myself to spending the remainder of Christmas alone.

After taking a hot bath and changing into some fluffy fleece pajamas, I poured myself a drink of cranberry juice and vodka and flopped down on the sofa, remote in hand, to find something to watch. Most of the TV faire had everything to do with warm, fuzzy Christmas movies, which I was not in the mood to watch. I ended up settling for “A Christmas Carol.”

I must have fallen asleep at some point, for I was wrapped in a throw blanket, the TV still going, though on a different movie entirely, now, when I was awakened by a noise. Startled, my eyes flew open and searched in the semi-darkness for the source of my disturbance. I could see only as far as the electric glow of the television would allow, the furthest corners of my living room still shrouded in shadow. “Hello?” I called, wondering if there would be an answer, hoping there wouldn't be. The cold blade of fear knifed into my back as I waited for the dark silence.

A deep laugh came from the hallway. “Are you frightened, little one?” His voice was low, smooth, and made goosebumps ripple their way across my skin.

“Who's there?” I asked, my voice no more than a shaky whisper. I reached to the end table next to me and flipped the light on. 

For a moment, the light flooded my eyes and I couldn't see, but as they adjusted, I began to make out his form. He stood, back leaned against the wooden corner of my hallway, tall, lean, clad in green and black leather, long black hair, piercing green eyes, a smirk on his angular face. He twirled a sprig of mistletoe in his fingers. “Boo!” he grinned, his eyes twinkling in amusement. 

I jumped in surprise. “Wh... who... are you?” I stuttered.

He shook his head. “Ah, little one, that is for me to know and you to find out.” He pointed one lithe finger at me and beckoned me from my seat. 

For a moment, I wavered, but my body k new better than to disobey. I found myself standing, the blanket falling on the floor and pooling at my feet, getting kicked under the coffee table as my feet carried me towards him. “Please don't kill me,” I whimpered, even as I continued towards him. “I'm not worth it.” I squeezed my eyes shut.

As the distance between us became no more than arm's length, he reached out and gently caressed my cheek. “Oh, but you are worth it,” he said softly. “I've no desire to kill you, though.”

My eyes snapped open and met his. “What do you mean to do to me, then?” I was afraid of his answer.

He grinned. “I mean to make you mine,” he growled as he leaned closer to me. Holding the mistletoe over my head, he wrapped his free arm around me and pulled me close, his lips landing softly on mine. I tried to struggle, but it was hopeless. His very touch made me weak. My mind gave in more quickly than my body and I began to concentrate on the way his lips moved over mine, the strength of his arm as he clenched me around the waist, the leather of his tunic that was tight enough that I could swear I felt the sinew of the muscle beneath as I was pressed against him. His tongue pierced the gap between my lips and flicked furtively against mine, waiting for me to give him entrance and, when I submitted, ran first along the ridge of my teeth then danced along the plane of my own tongue.

I moaned. It was an automatic response to his stimulation and I tried to stifle it, but it emerged from my throat, breathy into his mouth. I had lost all control.

Withdrawing from me, he chuckled, “You've submitted to me much more easily than I would have imagined.”

I tried to shake my head, but my muscles would not obey. “Who are you?”

“I am the Silver Tongue, The Trickster, The God of Mischief,” he answered. His face, so calm at first, so welcoming and docile, began to take on a sinister veil.

“Loki,” I whispered. 

“I see you've heard of me, then,” he sneered. He watched me with predatory eyes.

“Yes,” I gasped, “But what do you want with me?”

His gaze took in every inch of me that was not cinched in his embrace. “I mean to claim you, as I said before.”

I squirmed, suddenly feeling like a worm on a hook, bared, afloat, waiting to be snatched up and devoured. “Why me?”

Loki leaned close to my ear and snarled, “Because you are more than what you've become. You are meant to be mine.”

I shivered, his words hitting the core of me, except instead of inciting fear, I was titillated, my insides beginning to burn. “And how do you mean to claim me?” I straightened my back and asked haughtily, overcome by a sudden sense of bravery.

Leering, he leaned close to me and whispered, “You shall find out soon.” 

I felt his tongue flick against the vein of my neck and trace down to the cleft of my collarbone. He had dropped the mistletoe and his hand had found its way under my pajama top and brushed against my side before finding my breast and cupping it. As he began rolling my nipple between his fingers, I sighed, “Oh, god.” It had been years since I had been touched like that and never so expertly.

He pulled away from me for a moment and with a glimmer, both of our clothing had dissipated. “Tell me, do you now yearn for my touch, little one?”

“Yes, my Lord,” I answered, never having felt so naked as I was, my whole self exposed to this man, this intimate stranger. Goosebumps began to form on my skin once again. 

He smiled, his eyes traveling the length of my body appreciatively as his tongue flicked out and licked his lips. “You are beauty defined.”

I was overcome with a sense of modesty and tried to cover up, deep in the recesses of my mind knowing it was not any use. With a blush, I gushed, “Not really.”

Loki reached out and grasped my wrists, peeling my arms from me and holding them away from my body like wings. “Look at yourself,” he commanded, watching patiently as he waited for me to follow his order. 

Looking down at myself, I said, “I see nothing special. Average legs, smallish feet, tummy with a little extra weight, breasts beginning to sag...”

He shook his head. “No!” he roared. “You see you as you've been conditioned to see yourself. Look at me.” I raised my chin and stared into his eyes. “What I see is a woman who has been tempered by a lifetime of loving too much, caring too much, who carries her heart in the body that could have been created only by a Renaissance painter.”

A tear fell from the corner of my eye and rolled down my cheek as I saw myself with his eyes. “That's... that's not me.”

“You are a queen,” he replied. With one swift movement, he had me pinned against the opposite wall, his lips traveling my skin from my mouth to the dip in my throat to the valley between my breasts. He held my wrists above my head and transferred one so he held me there with one hand. With the other freed, he traced the curves of my body, his fingers barely ghosting against me, until he reached my mound. They danced there for a moment, nearly hovering, until he plunged one long digit into my folds. “So ready for me already,” he mumbled against my skin. 

My body was already singing with his touch and as he found my clit and began pressing against it and swirling his finger around it, I felt like every muscle had been turned into piano wire, getting wound tighter and tighter. My hips bucked against him as his finger slid into me and began pressing against my tenderest spot. I felt like I was on fire. He brought me to my edge and I was begging for release. “Loki, please...” I mewled.

“You will get your release when it pleases me,” he growled. He pulled himself from me, leaving me empty and wanting. My wrists were released and he slid his hands to my ass, pulling me up and against the bulge of his cock that had grown between us. His mouth fed hungrily on my lips and my neck as he lifted me just high enough that he was positioned at my entrance. I could feel him pressed against me, and my nether lips felt like they would yaw open just to take him in. 

I wriggled against him, trying to lower myself onto him, wanting to be filled by him. “Fuck me,” I rasped.

He laughed a low laugh. “All in due time, my pet.” He was relishing playing with me and ground himself against me, his tip just against my nub, shooting bolts of pleasure through me. A moan escaped my lips and I tried to rub against him more in an effort to find my release even this way. “You'll get your release,” he snarled as he thrust himself into me, impaling me on his member.

I lost my breath with the sensation, painful at first as I adjusted to the size of him, then gloriously full as I began to rock into him. My arms wrapped around his shoulders and I wrapped my legs around his hips. With each stroke, I wound tighter until the piano wire snapped and my pleasure came cascading down in a symphony of broken screams, his name being the only lyric on my tongue. “Loki! Loki! Loki!”

“That's it,” he whispered, “Claim my name.” As the first wave began to dissipate, he relaxed for a moment, relishing the way my walls had gripped him and were now loosening. As the rush from my orgasm passed, he pummeled into me again, his cock hitting the depths of me. He pulled out and slammed into me again, repeating it over and over until once again I was on edge. “Cum for me,” he commanded, as though his voice was the trigger to push me over again. He proved to be right. As he pistoned into me, I found my release once again, writhing against him, breathless, keening, my walls milking him and pulling him with me. He thrust into me with absolute ferocity as I reached my peak and I felt his teeth sink into the flesh of my shoulder as the hot stream of his release coated my walls. “Now, you are mine,” he roared, his voice nearly lost in my own vocalizations.

We rode out our pleasure, each moving more slowly until we were spent and he released me from his stronghold. As he pressed his forehead into mine, his hands softly holding my sides, he whispered, “You are mine, you shall belong to no other.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. “I don't want to be a concubine.”

He chuckled. “And so you shall not be, you were meant to be my queen.”


End file.
